


Letters From Nam

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic 2020 [76]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, College, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epistolary, Friendship, High School, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Prompt Fill, Reunions, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: LJ Comment Fic prompt for Masterpiece Theater prompt:MCU, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Travelin soldier fusion.In which Steve and Bucky meet the day before Bucky ships out, and develop a friendship - and maybe more - through letters back and forth. Until the letters stop.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Bite Sized Fic 2020 [76]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610332
Comments: 18
Kudos: 43
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2020





	Letters From Nam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkmoore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmoore/gifts).



_So they went down and they sat on the pier_  
_He said I bet you got a boyfriend but I don't care_  
_I got no one to send a letter to_  
_Would you mind if I sent one back here to you_

*o*

Stevie,

Saigon is hot. Not Brooklyn hot, but the kind where the air’s so thick you could drink it. They call all us new guys ‘fresh meat’ and ‘greenseeds’ and warn us we won’t be green very long. 

Don’t worry, though. I’ll be smarter than the average grunt so I can come back home again. And maybe we can go back to Coney Island and ride the Cyclone, only this time you won’t puke your guts out.

It feels stupid to say I miss you, since I only knew you for one day, but I do. 

Bucky

*o*o*o*

Bucky,

I hope you like this sketch of Coney Island. I drew it from memory, so it might not be right.

A girl in my class, Gabby Wilson, got pulled out in the middle of English today. Her brother was killed. Everyone with someone fighting over there is afraid. I’m afraid too, even though I can’t tell anyone why.

Here’s some good news! My ma got a job at the hospital. She’s a nurse, I don’t know if I told you. Once she has enough money we can move out of my aunt’s house and get our own place. I sure am tired of sleeping on the couch.

I miss you too. Please stay safe.

Stevie

*o*o*o*

Stevie,

We’ll be moving in country soon. I’m nervous about it. I’ve seen the guys who come back after a couple weeks in the bush and they remind me of that movie, the one with the cannibal zombies. They’re still moving, but their eyes are dead.

I don’t want to leave Saigon. Everything here is green and beautiful. The women wear these colorful dresses, and put flowers in their dark, dark hair. I bet you could draw them. That picture of Coney Island was real good.

Here’s a Vietnamese word for you: calm-oon. That’s probably not how you spell it, though. It means thank you. You don’t hear it a lot from the soldiers. Most of them think they’re entitled to whatever they want. But I try to remember this ain’t my country. Manners don’t cost nothing, my mom used to say.

So I’ll say calm-oon to you, too, because it was really great to get your letter. And nice to have someone to write home to. Makes me feel less homesick. I’m glad my mom ain’t alive, though, and I know that sounds bad. But she’d be all messed up about me being over here and I wouldn’t want that for her.

I don’t want it for you, either, so I hope you don’t take this too much to heart.

Your friend,

Bucky

*o*o*o*

Bucky,

I can’t help but worry for you. Every day on the news they show the fighting and bombing over there, and the protests over here. This war is tearing everyone apart, and you’re caught in the middle.

Ma says my asthma is bad enough to keep me from being drafted. Otherwise, I think she’d move us to Canada. A lot of guys are going there because they don’t want to fight. If I had the choice, I don’t know what I’d do. I wouldn’t want to have to kill anyone, but someone has to stand up for democracy. Right?

You never said how you feel about being a soldier, if you were drafted or signed up. You don’t have to say if you don’t want to. 

You know that song, Eve of Destruction? I feel like that’s the world we’re living in now.

I don’t want to bum you out, so I’ll end with this: Someone slipped LSD in Principal Haney’s coffee, and he ended up streaking around the football field. The photo club took pictures, but I don’t know if someone will confiscate the film before they can develop it. That was the highlight of the week.

Your friend, 

Stevie

*o*o*o*

Dear Stevie,

Sorry I haven’t written sooner. I’ve been getting settled at base camp.

You’re looking at the newest member of the Howling Commandos, a company with the 25th Infantry Division. We’re stationed at Cu Chi. They seem like good guys, and they’ve been telling me about the tunnel rats who have to clear the VC tunnels nearby. You have to be a special sort of crazy for that job.

The parts of this country that aren’t burning or charred are beautiful. Wild and green, a real jungle. Beautiful and deadly, both at the same time.

You might not like me after I tell you I signed up. It’s not like I want to kill people. What I really want is to go to college. I’m really into science. I figured the GI Bill was the best way to go. And my dad fought in WWII. It’s sounds stupid, but I thought joining up might make him proud of me, even though he’s gone.

You never mention your dad. Is he out of the picture?

I don’t have any funny stories to lighten things up before I sign off. But yours made me laugh. So thanks for that. 

Yours, 

Bucky

*o*o*o*

Dear Bucky,

There was an anti-war protest in the park yesterday. Ma wouldn’t let me participate, because she worries about tear gas, but I got to see some of it. One of the guys was wearing a pin and I thought you’d like it. It said, ‘there is no gravity, the Earth just sucks’. Feels like that sometimes.

I’m glad the guys in your company are nice. I hope they take good care of you. Howling Commandos is a great name! That would scare me if I were Charlie.

I think I might try to get a job on the school paper. That way I’ll have an excuse to cover the local anti-war protests and speeches. Ma won’t like it, but I need to do something. I can’t go over there and fight, but I can make sure people don’t forget that the soldiers aren’t faceless warmongers. They’re husbands and fathers and brothers. And friends.

Don’t worry, I’m not trying to be the next Walter Cronkite. No-one wants to see my ugly mug on television.

My dad fought in WWII, too. That’s something else we have in common. He died in Korea when I was just a baby. I never knew him. It’s just been me and Ma. 

I wish we’d met sooner. 

Yours,

Stevie

*o*o*o*

Dear Stevie,

I know it’s been a while since I last wrote. Sorry if I worried you.

Not sure what to say that’ll make sense. Everything here is upside down. ~~Even the most innocent~~

I think it’s great, you wanting to be a journalist. I’ve met some great guys over here and they deserve to have their stories told. Some are on their second or third tour because they can’t hack it back home. I’m worried that’ll happen to me. I don’t want this to be more real to me than egg creams and Coney Island. Or you.

There are a lot of journalists here, from all over the world. Most have been pretty nice. I got to know one lady reporter pretty good because she was dating the CO of the Tunnel Rats for a while. He died. The VC like to booby trap the tunnels. I heard she went home for a while, but now she’s back. It’s like this place gets under your skin, even when it’s ugly.

I can’t imagine coming back here. All I want is to go home. I look at that picture every day, the one we took in the photo booth. I’m glad you can’t come here, Stevie. This place would destroy everything good about you.

I’ve seen it. Some of the guys here, maybe they were wrong before they came. Maybe this place changed them. They’re the ones who get off on killing, on having the power to spare a life or take it. And they almost always take it. We’re supposed to be helping these people, but we’re just making things worse. And the soldiers that brag about putting bullets into babies and little kids, they’re monsters who get medals and commendations. Those guys scare me.

I wonder if my dad went through all this when he served. He never talked about it. Maybe that’s my answer.

Some days, the only thing that keeps me going is you. You don’t deserve that responsibility, but it’s true. ~~The way I feel about you~~

Might be a while between letters again. We’ve got a mission coming up. Try not to worry. I’m coming home. I promise.

Yours,

Bucky

*o*o*o*

Dear Bucky,

I’m sorry for all the terrible things you’re experiencing over there. I know you’re not like those other guys, you don’t take pleasure in killing. I can tell how conflicted you are. I wish I could help, more than just as a memory of one really great day.

I got the job at the paper! I told the editor my friend knows Paxton Andrews and she was impressed. Those columns she writes are really popular. She’s brave, just like you.

You can tell me anything, Bucky, I hope you know that. I want you to. Trust me, I won’t judge you. About anything.

Please stay safe. I need you to come home. I miss you.

Love, 

Stevie

*o*o*o*

Steve normally didn’t go to football games – he wasn’t into sports, and not just because he had bad asthma – but he was covering it for the school paper because the usual sports guy was out with a cold. He had a notebook and a tape recorder and was just waiting for all the usual speeches and announcements to finish so he could start taking notes.

“Let’s all bow our heads now for the local boys we’ve lost in Vietnam,” the announcer said.

Steve obediently bowed his head. There was no part of his life that was untouched by the war, or reminders of how many men were losing their lives there, and he hated it.

“Ellis Richard Anderson. Clyde Allen Banks. James Buchanan Barnes. Kyle J. Crenshaw.”

Steve lost his breath, his ears ringing so loudly he couldn’t hear any of the other names being read out. He abandoned his notebook, abandoned the newspaper’s tape recorder, and tread on countless feet as he fled the bleachers all while fumbling in his pocket for his inhaler.

It was a mistake. Someone made a mistake. He’d just gotten a letter from Bucky two days ago. Bucky was smart, too smart to die in a jungle. 

Steve bounced off a brick wall and crumpled, banging his knee on the asphalt. He took a hit off the inhaler, then another, all the while saying _no, no, no!_ in his head.

He remembered Bucky’s big smile, his bigger laugh. They’d spent a day at Coney Island right before Bucky shipped out, two complete strangers who became friends while riding coasters and sharing French fries.

Bucky was supposed to come home. He and Steve were supposed to go to college together and have long conversations without benefit of paper and pen. They were supposed to have the time to figure out what their relationship could, and should, be.

“You were supposed to come home!” Steve cried, his face wet with tears and his breath hitching in a way that no medicine could fix. “You promised!”

There’d be no-one else to mourn Bucky. He had no family. No girl. Just a high school senior he barely knew. Steve would be alone in his sorrow, alone without the man who could’ve been his best friend. The weight of it bent his shoulders and he hid his face in his hands as he wept.

The football game started, the roar of the crowd barely registering.

*o*o*o*

**One Year Later**

Steve sat on the floor in the common room, putting the finishing touches on a protest sign. As the artistic guy in his friend group, he was the one who usually got tasked with lettering the signs. He didn’t mind. Taking part in the campus protests against the war was really important to him.

“That looks really good,” Natasha said, leaning over Steve’s shoulder from her spot on the couch.

She was one of the first friends Steve had met. Natasha was very passionate about social activism, she looked amazing in a minidress and go-go boots, and Steve suspected – he’d never ask, of course – that she ironed her long red hair.

Natasha had been arrested twice while protesting, so she was kind of a legend. At least to Steve.

“It’s just markers.”

“It’s bold and easy to read. That’s important.”

Steve basked in her praise. Natasha was the only one who knew about Bucky, the way he and Steve had met and become friends via letters back and forth to Nam. How he’d died with only Steve to mourn his passing. She understood how important it was for Steve to be involved with the anti-war movement.

“Done!” Steve capped the marker and leaned back against the couch. “We’re all set for tomorrow.”

Luckily the protests were working around his school schedule, because his education was important too. His mother was working hard to help him with the costs involved, and Steve wanted to make the most of the opportunities he’d been given. For himself. And for Bucky, who never got the chance.

Steve was on his way to the dining hall with Natasha and their friend Bruce when Steve’s RA, Bryan, waylaid him.

“You got a minute?” Bryan asked. 

Steve nodded. “I’ll catch up with you guys,” he said to Natasha and Bruce.

Instead of going into Bryan’s room, as Steve expected, they stayed out the hall, Bryan holding his door mostly closed.

“We got a new guy moving in,” Bryan explained. “He’ll be auditing classes for the rest of the semester to help get him situated.”

Steve had volunteered to be a sort of ambassador for his dorm floor, particularly for students who were former military and were trying to transition back into civilian life.

“Vet?” Steve asked.

Bryan lowered his voice. “Former POW. We’ll both need to keep an extra eye out, if you catch my drift.”

“Got it.” 

Steve understood. The guys that had been in Nam could be volatile – at times angry, depressed, manic, suicidal. Regular check-ins could be helpful, let them know they weren’t alone, that someone cared what happened to them. It didn’t always help, but it couldn’t hurt.

Bryan plastered a smile on his face and opened his door.

“James, this is Steve. He’s going to show you around, get you acclimated.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Steve said, smiling and holding out his hand.

His smile fell away when James – thin and scruffy, his hair brushing the shoulders of his grubby green jacket – just stared at him. And then suddenly Steve couldn’t catch his breath, because those eyes…Those blue, blue eyes. Steve remembered the skin at the corners of them crinkled in laughter, and squinting in the bright sun at Coney Island.

“Steve. Hey, where’s your inhaler, man?”

He could barely hear Bryan over the ringing in his ears. Steve chest was getting tight, tighter, but he couldn’t make himself move because Bucky was _dead_ , his name had been on the list, and oh, God, prisoner of war, Bryan had said –

Bucky slipped his hand in Steve’s pocket, pulled out the inhaler, and pressed it into Steve’s hand. Steve, operating on autopilot, took two quick hits. 

When Bucky started to back up, Steve latched on to him. Pulled him in for a hug so tight he was probably in danger of cutting off his air again, but he didn’t care. Bucky hesitated for a moment, but then he hugged Steve back just as hard.

“Dead.” Steve’s voice had a hitch in it, and he was crying all over Bucky’s jacket, but he didn’t care. “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought I was too,” Bucky whispered back. 

Steve had a million questions, but there’d be time enough to ask them later. For now he wasn’t letting go because Bucky was alive, he was warm and solid under Steve’s hands, and that was all that mattered.

Steve’s soldier had finally come home.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** Title from the prompted song by The Chicks. One of my favorite movies is _Message From Nam_ , based on the Danielle Steel novel. I’m endlessly angry I can’t get it on DVD in my country. I do have two copies on VHS, though, and the next time I have four hours to kill I’ll pop it in for a watch. Anyhoo, that story definitely informed this one, as did the song itself. Except I couldn’t help giving the boys a happy ending, because I didn’t want to be that sad. ::grins:: (And Bucky is good at coming back from the dead, so it’s not beyond the pale.)
> 
> Darkmoore, I hope I did justice to your prompt!
> 
> Special thanks to nagi_schwarz for the quickie beta and reassurances!


End file.
